Hypnotism
by Plagued by Macaroni
Summary: What happens when the child of two criminals discovers her magical side? What will she become?
1. Bored!

((Disclaimer: I own not the wonder of Harry Potter, but I did create everything that wasn't mentioned in J.K. Rowling's books. So there. Oo;))  
  
((Author's note: I am writing this story as a revised version of my first fic, Better Late Than Never. If you chose to read that one, please tell me what you think of this one in comparison! The stories are about a year apart, and I hope I've grown somewhat in my writing ability since then. Now... On with the fic!))  
  
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Hypnotism  
  
Chapter 1:  
  
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Aimee snickered as she dialed the number shown on a phony late-night psychic commercial.  
  
"Hey, if you keep giggling like that, she's gonna know you're not 18!" protested Rachel, Aimee's best friend.  
  
It was a Saturday night at the end of August, more correctly a Sunday morning. Aimee's parents were out of town for the weekend, so there was nothing more natural to do than have a sleepover with her closest friend.  
  
"All right, all right; I get it. Now hush up and pick up the other phone!"  
  
Rachel did as she was told, scowling the entire time. There was nothing she hated more than Aimee in a bossy mood, and she had been putting up with this one all night.  
  
A few seconds after Rachel picked up the phone, so did Madame Sophie, the psychic.  
  
"Good evening, young lady. You have called me over matters of the heart, yes?"  
  
Aimee rolled her eyes. Not another mushy psychic. The last one babbled the entire time over nothing but Aimee's husband, who didn't exist.  
  
'You'd think at least one of these loonies could be creative,' Aimee thought while responding. "Yes, actually, I have."  
  
Rachel glanced over at Aimee. If -she- had been the one to call, she would have at least made it exciting. Oh, well. Maybe this could be okay after all... Or maybe it would be so boring that it would convince Aimee to get a better computer. The internet is much more exciting than fake psychic calls.  
  
"Well, my dear, what would you like to know?" The psychic was starting to get snippy. This was not a good sign... Angry mediums were obnoxious, no matter how fake they were.  
  
"I... I was wondering if... if...," Aimee tried to think of something original in about three seconds, but failed. "If I have a soulmate."  
  
The psychic sighed. Not another 12-year-old client. She hoped they were using their parents' credit card. "Let me look into my crystal ball... I see... nothing. I am sorry, my dear, it seems that you are destined to be alone for all eternity. I am truly sorry." With that, she hung up the phone and decided to take her coffee break. Doesn't anyone take the supernatural seriously anymore?  
  
"Nice job, Aim. Maybe next time you'll be more convincing," Rachel remarked. "Or we could always do something a little more normal, instead of sustaining your obsession with prank calls."  
  
"Yeah, but it's just so much fun! Even if this one was kind of boring, the next one could always be better!"  
  
Rachel sighed dramatically and rolled over onto her pillow, crunching dropped potato chips as she did. "G'night, Aimee."  
  
"G'night, Rachel."  
  
Back on the other end of that night's exchange, there was an abandoned room that smelled strongly of coffee, glowing softly from the light of an orb in the center of a round table. It showed a vision of a humongous castle looming steadily closer, then it flickered from face to face of the occupants inside before finally deciding on one. After displaying its chosen image for a split second, it returned to the dead state that it would remain in for the rest of time. 


	2. Trouble

((Disclaimer: As I have said before, I don't own anything from the Harry Potter books. I hate writing these things; I know you're not stupid enough to believe that I'm trying to take credit for someone else's work.))  
  
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Hypnotism  
  
Chapter 2:  
  
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A week later, Aimee and Rachel found themselves roaming their school's halls during their free period. Neither felt like doing homework, so they chased each other down to the end of the hall, walked into the computer lab, and logged online.  
  
"Hey, look at this... it's that weird psychic's webpage. You know, the one we called last weekend..." Aimee began.  
  
"Yeah, so? What about it?" Rachel really didn't want to get started with this psychic business again.  
  
"Well, you'll be pleased to know that she's gone out of business. Apparently someone stole her "heirloom" crystal ball, and she'll be unable to carry on in her profession."  
  
"Oh, darn it all. Goodness gracious merciful me. I am so depressed right now, Aimee... I don't think I'll make it," Rachel said in her best sarcastic, monotonous voice. Rachel read the rest of the page while Aimee stared blankly out the window. "Uh, Aim? This doesn't look so good here. Read this." She pointed to the last paragraph on the screen.  
  
Aimee read in disbelief.  
  
As of 3:00 A.M. last Sunday, I have been without my crystal ball. Authorities have reason to believe that this crime was committed by the last person I talked to before my coffee break. The police are now tracing a call made by a minor at 2:30 A.M. If this is you, don't say I didn't warn you. I will have my crystal ball back again. Soon.  
  
"Rachel, do you know what this means?!?" Aimee was frantic.  
  
"Hey, don't get bent out of shape over it. We didn't steal the crystal ball, so we don't have anything to worry about."  
  
"Sure we do! Now my parents are gonna ground me for the rest of eternity!" Aimee sighed. "I guess it's not as bad as it would be if we really had stolen the thing."  
  
"You know what, Aim? You're right. You're also late for your next class. Now get moving!" Rachel loved having a double free period. So much time to relax... and get homework done. Even if Aimee never did hers, Rachel tried her best to do what she could.  
  
"Oh, hush. They'll never notice," Aimee said hopefully as she scampered off to her next class. "Later, gator!"  
  
Rachel couldn't help but wonder why in the world her friend was such a weirdo.  
  
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(Meanwhile, at the Ministry of Magic...)  
  
Arthur Weasley had just started to catch up on his latest assignment when he received a telephone call from his wife, Molly.  
  
"No, dear, I won't be home for supper tonight either. This new thing just got in and we're having a pretty tough time with it."  
  
"Yes, dear, I know I've been working late more and more. I really can't help it..."  
  
"All right. I'll try. I love you too. Bye, dear."  
  
As a matter of fact, Arthur thought his wife was completely right. But when you've got muggles involved with the Orb of Truth, you've got more trouble than a whole team of wizards can handle. 


	3. Uh Oh

((Disclaimer: Do I really have to put one of these at the beginning of every chapter?!? Sheesh. Okay, I do not own anything that J.K. Rowling created, including the Weasleys I mentioned, did not mention, and will mention in the future. I also don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Oliver Wood, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom... and the list goes on. Oh, and I don't own Mrs. Norris, either, but I do have my own crazy cat here with me!))  
  
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Hypnotism  
  
Chapter 3:  
  
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When Aimee got out of school that day, she had all but forgotten about the psychic's warning. To stall for time, she stopped on her way home for a strawberry smoothie, a new Goo Goo Dolls CD, a pack of colored pencils, and a box of toothpicks. Once she had spent all her allowance, there was nothing to do but go back home and face her yelling parents. Maybe they'd be nicer about it if she offered them a toothpick...  
  
After thirty seconds of being home, Aimee learned that a toothpick would certainly not help matters. Her parents were acting strangely, even for parents. Apparently the police had had a big effect on them, because they were in a furious daze. Aimee had to be interviewed by the officer at the house, so her parents left the room and whispered angrily to one another as they sat down to watch TV.  
  
"So... How old are you, Miss?" the red-haired officer asked.  
  
"Fourteen, sir."  
  
"Why were you calling a psychic hotline if you knew you weren't old enough to?"  
  
"My fr-I do it for fun sometimes, sir. It's sort of interesting."  
  
"I see. Now, what exactly did Madame Sophie say to you?"  
  
"She said... I can't remember exactly, sir."  
  
"Well, if you can't remember, maybe you should come down to the station with me until you can remember. That was an awfully expensive or-crystal ball that went missing, and Madame is very upset over her loss." The officer started to stand up, but Aimee interrupted.  
  
"Wait, wait! I think I can tell you sort of what she said! She said that," Aimee paused to think, "She said that I didn't have a soulmate and that she didn't see anything in her crystal ball."  
  
"That's very nice, young lady, but we have reason to believe otherwise. Come with me and I'll explain, okay?"  
  
"But that was the truth! I swear! Just don't take me to the police station; my parents'll kill me!"  
  
Aimee felt bad arguing with the officer; he looked like a pretty nice guy. But all in all, she had herself and her social life to look after, not to mention her reputation. She'd never hear the end of all this at school...  
  
"It's orders, miss. I'll tell your parents while you get in the car."  
  
Aimee felt like crying, but she had no choice but to do what he said. She walked out of the house hanging her head in shame, and as she got into the car, she felt a single tear slip down her cheek.  
  
A minute later, the officer walked out of the house and over to the car. He opened her door and asked her if she'd like to sit up front.  
  
Aimee sniffed. "Why?"  
  
"Well, the back is usually where the criminals sit. I thought it might cheer you up a bit to sit up with me."  
  
She debated this for a while, and decided he was right. She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out the opened door.  
  
"Thanks," she whispered, drying her eyes.  
  
He said nothing, only opening the other door for her. As she re-buckled her seatbelt, she saw a look of apology in his eyes. Of course, he probably didn't make teenage girls cry very often, so she could sort of see why. He shut the door she had gotten out of, circled around the car, and got into the driver's seat. He fastened his seatbelt and turned to her.  
  
"Got a favorite radio station?" He grinned.  
  
She wasn't going to let him off that easily. After all, Aimee was not one to cry. She shrugged her shoulders and looked out the window. Looking back at her house, she caught a glimpse of her parents standing together in the living room window. Aimee couldn't take it anymore, so she turned back and faced front.  
  
The officer stepped on the gas, and they were on their way.  
  
((A/N: Okay, guys. I'm going to write one more chapter for this, and if I don't get a review by then, I'm going to quit. I don't care if it's a flame, praise, or just a "hi"... I want to hear what you think! Oo; Errm.. Yeah.)) 


	4. A Long Day

((Disclaimer: Yes, this lazy girl has decided to keep her promise and write another chapter for her not-well fic (Thanks for the review, Pineapple!), meaning that you now get to read another disclaimer. I can see you jumping for joy... Oo; Anyway, I do not own Harry Potter (the character as well as the series) and I didn't create the characters that I'm borrowing. However, I bet you all know who did, and if you don't, then you're either really dense or extremely nonattentive, in which case you probably will ignore this disclaimer and not report me to the police. Muahaha.))  
  
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Hypnotism  
  
Chapter 4:  
  
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Glancing through her tear-raw eyes, Aimee noticed that the officer's badge said "Arthur Weasley" and also that he wasn't going in the direction of the police station.  
  
"Uh... excuse me?" Aimee started.  
  
The nearly fed-up policeman glanced over at her while trying to keep his eyes on the road. "Yes?" he replied.  
  
"The police station isn't this way." Aimee wondered what he was going to do to her, since it appeared that she was being kidnapped. Now that she thought of it, a call to a telephone psychic was a rather petty crime to be arrested for. 'Great,' she thought, 'Paranoia has made me into an idiot once again.' She had been so preoccupied with worrying about being arrested that she hadn't stopped to think of whether or not her crime was worthy of an arrest.  
  
The policeman pulled over to the side of the road, looking scared. "Look, kid, I know you're frightened, but please trust me on this. I'll explain everything shortly, I promise."  
  
Aimee wanted to tell him that 'shortly' wasn't good enough, but the thought of a dagger slicing into her neck stopped her. She remained silent as they drove for hours and hours, finally resting her head against the window and falling asleep.  
  
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Arthur drove on, stopping only for a cup of muggle coffee. He really couldn't get enough of that stuff; it was so different from the wizard make. Glancing at the girl beside him, he felt guilty for not telling her where she was going, but for all he knew, she was not to be trusted. He had worked for years to track down her parents, and he wasn't about to risk everything until he was in a secure place and his plans were in motion.  
  
Painful as it was, he couldn't help but think back to the hardships he had gone through fifteen years ago with the Death Eaters. His cousin, Lucy, along with about a dozen others, had been brutally murdered by this girl's parents. That night would never be forgotten to him, and he would see to it that his vow to his cousin was fulfilled.  
  
Snapping out of his daze, he realized that he had missed his target by about a mile. Luckily, it was nearing four in the morning, so there was nobody on the road to see him make a u-turn and speed toward the palm-sized rock that would transport him and the girl to Paris.  
  
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Upon waking, the first words that Aimee heard went something like this: "Mais non! Elle n'est pas une sorcière, oui?"  
  
Even though Aimee had taken French in school, she didn't quite know what a 'sorcière' was, or at least not in referral to her. Another thing she was quite lost on was why French was being spoken as opposed to good old English.  
  
After listening to Officer Weasley talk to the French woman for a while, Aimee got rather bored and began to look around. She was apparently in some sort of dormitory, and a nice-looking one at that. She was sitting on a bed that had velvet curtains pulled back around the bedposts, and there were beautiful carpets covering nearly every square inch of the floor. The room was dimly lit by a glow from the fireplace and various lamps positioned so as to give the room a more comfy look. Although Aimee didn't mind her surroundings in the least, she couldn't help but wonder why she was in them. The thought of being kidnapped didn't exactly bring the word 'luxury' to mind...  
  
Arthur grasped her shoulder and led her to a corner of the room. "You're at Beauxbatons, a school for witches and wizards to study magic. I hate to leave you here like this, but I really don't have a choice... See, I've got my own family to get home to... Oh, never mind that. You're here, I assume you know why, and I wish you the absolute best of luck. Maybe we'll meet again someday, and if you do, I'll introduce you to my son. He's about your age... But I'm getting off track. Sorry for everything..."  
  
With that, he exited the room, leaving Aimee by herself. "But... I don't know why..." she whispered to herself.  
  
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(A/N: I hope this is starting to make a little more sense... Now that a lot of the questions have been answered, I can get on with the story! Please review and let me know how you think the story is; you have no idea how much I'd appreciate it. Until next chapter, then! ^^;) 


	5. Beginnings

(Disclaimer: Man, do I hate these things. Can we just say that you know that I don't own rights to anything Harry Potter and get on with it? Thank you. Oo;)  
  
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Hypnotism  
  
Chapter 5:  
  
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The next week of Aimee's life was the busiest she'd ever known. After the departure of the one person who could have helped her, Aimee was forced to rely on hand gestures and her terrible French-speaking skills. "Comment allez-vous, Madame?" she asked, attempting to be polite. The only response she received was a glare. The obviously unhappy woman who had been talking to Arthur Weasley just a few minutes ago grabbed Aimee by the hand and led her down a long, twisting staircase to what appeared to be a basement of some sort.  
  
The woman bustled over to a tall set of shelves with thin boxes of all lengths set upon it. She pulled out box after box, opening each to reveal a different color stick, which Aimee would soon find out to be a wand.  
  
After waving a few of these rods around, Aimee finally found out that she had magical powers. Luckily, she liked the wand that had chosen her the best of all of the wands, so she had no problem there. She was having a lot of fun pointing her wand at various objects and seeing what happened to them until she received a slap on the arm from the poor lady trying to help her.  
  
Next, Aimee was brought over to a table with a heap of books piled on top. The woman dug through them, occasionally picking one out and setting it in a separate pile. When she had finished, she tied a string around them (which happened to be a book that Aimee had gotten to with her wand) and placed one end of the string in Aimee's hand. She held up a finger and shook it, saying "wingardium leviosa", meaning that Aimee should do the same with her wand. Aimee did, and found that after a great many tries, the books floated behind her as she pulled them with the string.  
  
Since Aimee had no free hands, she found herself being dragged this time by her ear to a wall of cages. "Chat?" the woman questioned. "Oui," Aimee answered, wondering why she had just answered "yes" to "cat", which didn't seem like a valid question in her opinion. She didn't have to think about it for very long; the woman stood on her tiptoes and peeked in a few of the cages (and eventually had to get a ladder to get to a couple of them, which was saying quite a bit since the woman was larger than most hippopotamuses) to find a small grey kitten. The kitten looked like a mere dust bunny in her large hands, but it had the voice of a banshee. It shrieked like the world was about to end until it was placed safely in Aimee's arms, which were a few good feet closer to the ground.  
  
"Endymion," the woman told her. Aimee held up her wand and shook it at the cat, repeating its name over and over, as the woman shook her head and started to walk away. After about the fifth step of Aimee hopping along holding a kitten, dragging about fifteen books, and shaking a wand at a cat while repeating what she thought to be a spell, sparks started to come out of the tip of Aimee's wand. The woman glanced downward, amazed, as the sparks gathered around the kitten's neck to form a golden collar, engraved with the name Endymion.  
  
The woman had never seen anything like this before, but other than giving Aimee a glance of disbelief, she tried her best not to let it show. She was already furious that a juvenile delinquent was placed in her care; all she needed was for the little brat to have an unknown penchant for magic.  
  
She stormed up the stairs as Aimee struggled to keep behind her; after all, the woman still had her ear pinched between her fingers. Finally, they arrived back at the room they had started in, and Aimee collapsed tiredly onto the bed.  
  
Her relaxation didn't last for long, however, when she realized that she was laying on most of her possessions and what looked like a bunch of black bathrobes. Looking up at the woman for approval, she began to unpack her things, too tired to question how they had gotten there in so short a time.  
  
"'Urry up, pleese," the woman told her as she pulled her skirt out to sit down, "I haf much to explain."  
  
Taking the woman's advice, she placed her books on a table, arranged her stuffed animals on her bed, and pushed everything else to the floor. "You speak English?" Aimee questioned in surprise.  
  
"Af course. But eef I vould tell you zees, you vould not 'ave 'shut up'," she said, grinning to herself at her cleverness. "Now, I vill explain. Tes parents sont Death Eaters, zhey are taken to jail. You are 'ere to learn ze magic, because you are a vitch. Zees," she continued, holding up Endymion by the scruff of his neck, "ees a familiar. 'E vill help you, but I know not 'ow. Zeese," she now gestured toward Aimee's robes, "are your ooniforms. You vear zeese to schoole. Do you 'ave any questions?"  
  
Aimee had millions of questions, but at the moment, she could only think of a few. "How am I supposed to learn magic? I mean, I don't know anything but how to give a cat a collar and make books float. Also, what's a Death Eater? Who are you, and what is your name? Why-"  
  
The woman interrupted Aimee before she had to answer too many questions. "My name ees Madame Maxine, I am 'Eadmistress of Beauxbatons. You vill learn ze magic same as everyone else, but you vill 'ave to vork harder, since you are very much behind. Death Eaters are ze followers of," she paused, then decided to whisper a name, "Voldemort. 'E ees very bad wizard, and your parents are very bad too." She seemed content with her answers, and as a goodbye, she pointed to a door that Aimee thought was a closet. "Ze common room ees zhere, and ze girls vill be glad to 'elp you." The woman rose from her seat and exited the room as Aimee gathered her belongings from the floor and began to arrange them around her room.  
  
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Aimee was changing into her robe when she noticed that it seemed to be trying to tug itself off her. She hoped it wasn't magicked, and looked for the source of the pulling. She sighed in relief; it had just been Endymion. She reached over to her top drawer, pulled out a hair elastic, and dangled it in front of the cat's face, planning to send it zipping across the room with the cat in pursuit. As she looked at the cat, she stopped moving (and nearly stopped breathing). She had never seen eyes like his before; they were purple! She picked him up, blinked, and checked again to be sure. 'Yup,' she thought, 'they're as violet as... well... violets.'  
  
Sick of being examined, Endymion felt he had to remind his new owner that he was no stuffed animal, like the ones on her bed. He reached out a paw and gave her a nice pat on the nose, which didn't make Aimee happy in the least. She resumed dangling the hair-thing, finally stretching it out and letting it fly across the room.  
  
Aimee watched as Endymion chased after his new toy, then turned to pick up her brush from her dresser. She glanced in the mirror, and began to brush her hair. 'At least nothing's different here,' she thought. 'Same long, puffy brown hair. Same funny-looking eyebrows. Same violet-colored eyes. Same... wait a second.' Her eyes shot up to meet their duplicates in the mirror, lingering as they took in their new color.  
  
"Cool," she breathed.  
  
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(A/N: Hope you guys are liking this so far; I've stayed up until 12:30 just to write this for you. ^^; Needless to say, I'd love for you to review, even if it's constructive criticism. Stay tuned! Judging by the reviews I hope to get, I'll write more if that's what you want. Chapter six is on its way!) 


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